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Report:Aranzael Addresses the Senate
After being introduced, a man strides up to the podium, in full Mandalorian battle armor. The armor is clean, and obviously well maintained, but the scars of battles are displayed proudly. The undershirt, boots, and gloves are black, and well worn. The armored plates are a dark, gunmetal gray, each piece with bright red borders and accents. Emblazoned across the upper torso armor plates is a stylized raptor, wings outstretched, done in bright red with a heavy white border. No expression can be seen through the darkened visor of the helmet. Like the rest of the armor, the helmet is gunmetal gray, with red and black accents and borders, particularly noticeable on the t-visor. A painted raptor eye sits near the t-visor on each side of the helmet. Scuffed and worn leather belts are strapped to his lower torso, equipped with holsters and pouches. A clean, but tattered white half-cape hangs from the back of his shoulder armor, the same red raptor displayed on the back. The man takes his position behind the podium, and looks around, the helmet swiveling slowly as he takes the group of Senators, delegates, and other spectators in. He looks down at the recording and projection equipment before him as if unfamiliar with it, then looks beyond, as if taking queues from someone close by. Armored gauntlets rest upon the podium, gloved hands lightly gripping the sides. He clears his throat, the sound slightly muffled behind his helmet. His voice is a deep, rolling tenor, thick with an unplaceable accent, though his Basic is crisp and precise. "Senators and delegates. Envoys and ambassadors. Jedi, Admirals, and Generals. Honored representatives of the Republic. Good evening. I am Aranzael Moyat, Chieftan of the clan that bears my family name. I am Mando'ad," he thumps his chest armor proudly, and continues, " A son of Mandalore. What you call 'Mandalorian'. I come to you tonight as a representative of all the sons and daughters of Mandalore." He pauses, the visor on his helmet again scanning the faces before him, looking directly into the faces of all who cross his gase. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my wish that the government of this new Republic officially recognize the Mandalorian people and our unique cultural identity." He pauses briefly to let that sink in, then continuing quicly. "Some of you may ask 'why?'. Why would a race of mercenaries, bounty hunters, and fortune seekers wish to become a member of the Republic?" Even though no expression is visible behind the visor, his posture as he looks out is challenging. And proud. Always proud. "The answer is simple: we are *not* a race of mercenaries, bounty hunters, and fortune seekers. In time, I hope to provide you with true examples of Mandalorian values and ideals...not the greedy ways of the Fett clan and those unfortunate few that followed in their example." His accented voice softens a bit, though the audio systems quickly adjust. "We are a proud people. A people of tradition. A people of values. A warrior people, yes, but not the bloodthirsty warmongers we are portrayed as in history. And we are dying." Another pause, this one longer, as the magnitude of his statement sinks in. He continues, passion increasing the volume of his voice, his odd accent making the stress on certain words even more profound, "The Mandalorian people are at a crisis. For too long, the other peoples of the galaxy have looked upon us with derision. Fear. Hostility. For too long, the Fett clan has been the example by which all Mandalorians are judged. Because of this, proud warriors are ashamed to show their true selves. They strip themselves naked of their Beskar'gam...the armor by which we have been known for millenia. They have stopped following our ways." Almost at a whisper, he adds, "They are lost." He looks down at the podium for a few moments, as if searching for words to continue. He looks up as he speaks again, and it is apparent that every time he speaks, he is looking directly into the face of a Senator, never lingering on any one person for long, but always speaking directly to someone. "For most of our existence, we have lived scattered on many worlds. The tragedy of Alderaan proves the wisdom of this. Yet no matter the distance between us, the proud adherence to our ways kept us as one." He raises his arms, gloved fingers nimbly working beneath his helmet, which he removes, placing it upon the podium before him. He runs his hand through his short, black hair, graying at the temples. Piercing black eyes gaze out upon the mass of people. As he looks into the faces of those before him, the sincerity, pride, and dedication in his eyes can almost be felt as a physical force that was caged behind the dark visor of his helmet. He has a handsome, angular face, with a large x-shaped scar sits on his right cheekbone like a decoration, and another large scar adorns the right side of his forehead. As he speaks, lines appear in his face: laugh lines, crow's feet, assorted wrinkles. "It is not our way to dwell on the future. For an individual warrior, preoccupation with the future can indicate an unwillingness to accept death. For a warrior, that is a death sentence. However, I must look to the future not for a single warrior, but for an entire race of warriors. I come to the Republic because of your government's acceptance of people of all races. We have a saying: 'Aliit ori'shya tal'din'...'Family is more than blood'. My people readily adopt from all species. Any who choose to adhere to our ways is welcome among my people. The Republic is my people's best hope of gaining and maintaining acceptance." A penatrating gaze looks out into the gathered crowd once more, locking onto someone's eyes briefly before moving on again, as he continues. "But I come to you for another reason. You need us. You gained your new Republic after the fall of Palpatine. Since then, you've lost Sluis Van. Cochrane. Chandrila. Corellia. Coruscant." A raised hand ticks off each world a finger at a time. "After obtaining the diplomatic Republic you fought so long and so hard for, the fire went out." The gloved hand clenches into a tight fist. "The raging inferno that repeatedly stood up to the Empire of old dwindled and faded. Hot embers still remain, scattered among the ashes, but I fear without additional spark, the fire cannot be rekindled." He touches his upper torso armor with his fingertips. "Let *us* be that spark. Give my people recognition and a voice in your government. Give me that to take back to my people, so that I might rally them and declare themselves proudly once more." He raises a gloved fist into the air once more, continuing, "Let the bright flame of my people's warrior pride mingle with yours, and together, we can take back what was stolen. Together, we can regain our pride." His arms open wide, as he says, "And all of our people, individually and as a whole, will be the stronger for it." He ends the statement by closing both hands into tight fists and bringing his arms into his body, gauntlets crossed in an 'X' over his chest. Gripping his helmet, he silently replaces it, his fingers redoing the seals and connections, before raising his visored face up to address the people once more. "I offer myself as ambassador to and from the Mandalorian people. In addition, should the need arise, my experience and skills in strategic planning and leadership will be at your disposal. Good evening, and thank you for your time." With that, he steps back from the podium, pivots smartly, and strides out of the room, just as proudly as he entered.